


Sleepover

by fangirl_squee



Series: homies help homies, always [13]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:57:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A combination of a power outage and cold weather leads to a group sleepover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepover

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently seeing a photo of George Blagden in a onesie = fic involving Grantaire in a onesie.
> 
> Set after Opposites and Doubles.

When Enjolras gets home one night, freezing cold and looking forward to drying himself off and spending the night of studying in front of the heater, he gets home to a dark apartment. This is unusual, since Combeferre home before him most days.

 

He frowns at the gloomy hallway, and when flicking the light switch has no effect, so calls out, “Combeferre?”

 

“In here.”

 

Enjolras follows the voice into the lounge. Combeferre is sitting on the lounge, both doonas wrapped around him. Enjolras can understand why, it almost feels colder inside than it does outside (although at least it’s less wet). What he doesn’t understand is _why_.

 

“Apparently the power’s out for this area,” says Combeferre, anticipating his question, “probably something to do with the weather.”

 

“It’s _freezing_ in here.”

 

“I called the power company, apparently they’re giving it their best effort to find the cause and fix it within 48 hours.”

 

“They don’t even know what’s causing it? That is ridiculous,” Enjolras pulls his phone out of his pocket, “what’s their number?”

 

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, are you going to do about it?”

 

“I’m going to, well, I’ll,” Enjolras paused.

 

The corner of Combeferre’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a grin.

 

Enjolras glared at him (Combeferre, who had years of practise withstanding Enjolras’ glares, was unaffected). “Well, we can’t stay here overnight, we’ll freeze.”

 

“Where else can we go?”

 

Enjolras paused, considering. “The dorms, maybe?”

 

“The heating there is terrible, Courf’s always complaining about it.”

 

“We could ask Cosette?”

 

“I think she’s staying at Marius’ tonight.”

 

“Then she’ll definitely have room for us at her place.”

 

He taps out a text to Cosette, then burrows under the covers next to Combeferre.

 

Combeferre frowns at him. “Your hands are freezing!”

 

“Well, it’s cold in here.” Enjolras _hates_ the cold.

 

His phone chimes.

 

“Cosette says we should go to Grantaire and Marius’ place. Apparently they have a fireplace. We can go there while we wait for the power to come back on.”

 

Combeferre moves off the couch, and Enjolras yelps. “You’re letting the warm air out!”

 

“The sooner you leave the blanket pile, the sooner we can go somewhere with actual heating,” says Combeferre, offering Enjolras a hand up.

 

Enjolras huffs, bracing himself against the chill. “Fine.”

 

He’s shivering by the time they get into Combeferre’s car, and puts his hands against the heater immediately. It doesn’t make much of a difference, and he’ll be so glad when they get somewhere warmer.

 

(The cold provides a good distraction from his nerves. This will be the first time he’s gone inside Grantaire’s place. He’s dropped him off after their dates, but Grantaire hasn’t suggested he come inside, and Enjolras hasn’t asked.)

 

The rain is coming down hard when they reach their destination, and they both get soaked in the time it takes them to reach the front door. Combeferre knocks, and Enjolras bounces up and down, trying to keep warm.

 

Unexpectedly, it’s Courfeyrac who answers the door.

 

“Hello!” he says, beaming at them, “Come in, quick, we’re trying to keep the heat in.”

 

They take off their dripping shoes at the door. Enjolras has never been happier to feel warm, dry carpet underneath his feet. Courfeyrac hands them both towels.

 

“We weren’t expecting to see you here,” says Combeferre, hanging his coat up.

 

“The heating in the dorms is _terrible_ ,” says Courfeyrac, pulling a face (he shares Enjolras’ low opinion of cold weather), “we’re buying one of those portable heater things tomorrow, but Marius said we could crash here for the night.”

 

“I guess that explain the pyjamas,” says Combeferre.

 

Enjolras follows his gaze. Courfeyrac is wearing navy flannel pyjama pants, with little red robots on them, and an oversized grey hoodie. Courfeyrac laughs.

 

“Actually, that was Jehan’s idea. He said that since we’re staying over we might as well make it a slumber party. And anyway,” he starts leading them into what must be the lounge room, “it goes with the whole theme we’ve got going on at the moment.”

 

Enjolras is about to ask him what he means by that, but it becomes immediately apparent as soon as he enters. The furniture (an worn-looking couch, a scuffed coffee table, and a few miss-matched chairs) have been pushed to the sides of the room. In the middle, in front of the fireplace, they’ve made a tent out of bed sheets. They do, in fact, have a fireplace, and the flames cast an orange glow over the room. Enjolras feels the heat wash over him.

 

Marius pokes his head out. “Oh, hello!”

 

He scrambles out, and Grantaire, Eponine, and Cosette follow. They’re all in pyjamas too – Cosette’s in a long green nightgown and her favourite woolly blue cardigan, Marius almost matching her in an dark green and navy set, and Grantaire is –

 

“What are you _wearing_?” says Enjolras, before he can stop himself.

 

“It’s called a onesie Enjolras, get with the times. All the cool kids are wearing them.” Grantaire fiddles with the front zip, and Enjolras doesn’t know whether he wishes he could see more or less than the sliver of collar bone that is currently on display.

 

Jehan enters with a tray (he’s in pyjamas too, bright purple florals, and Enjolras is starting to feel very out of place), steam coming off the mugs. He smiles at them.

 

“Hello! I was just making some hot chocolate. I could make you guys some after you get changed if you like.”

 

“Changed?” says Enjolras

 

Combeferre looks apologetic. “We didn’t know we were supposed to bring pyjamas, sorry Jehan.”

 

“Not a problem!” says Courfeyrac, slinging an arm around both their shoulders, “they can borrow some of Marius and Grantaire’s stuff, right guys?”

 

“Sure. Grantaire can show you where it is, right Grantaire?” says Marius

 

“Sure,” says Grantaire, casual, easy.

 

They both turn to follow him, when Marius says, “Oh, wait, Combeferre, um, I had something I needed to ask you, Enjolras can just get the stuff for you, right?”

 

Combeferre raises his eyebrow slightly. “Right,” he says after a beat.

 

Grantaire tilts his head towards the door. “Come on, it’s upstairs.”

 

Grantaire’s paintings line the wall, interspersed with photos – Marius and Cosette (in formalwear, at one of her father’s university dinners), Marius and Grantaire (arms slung around each other, laughing), and a few of the Les Amis. He looks at them as he follows Grantaire upstairs.

 

It’s a lot quieter upstairs, and colder. He crosses his arms.

 

“Oh, are you cold? Here, let me.” Grantaire slings his arm over Enjolras’ shoulder. The material of the onesie is soft, and his arm feels a lot warmer the Courfeyrac’s.

 

“Um,” Enjolras feels warmer already, “thanks.”

 

Grantaire grins at his, steering them towards what must be his room. “It’s absolutely my pleasure.”

 

He lets go of Enjolras when they enter, and it is most definitely Grantaire’s bedroom, judging by the stack of canvases in the corner, painting supplies and a collection of old liquor bottles scattered around the room. There’s also, unexpectedly, a battered guitar in one corner of the room, next to a stack of books.

 

“I didn’t know you played.”

 

“What?” says Grantaire, turning to look and Enjolras from where he’s rifling through the closet.

 

“The guitar,” says Enjolras, “I didn’t know you could play an instrument.”

 

“Mmmhmm,” says Grantaire, pulling a few things out, “and piano. My parents thought that a well-rounded young man ought to play an instrument, and they wouldn’t let me take guitar until I’d mastered piano, so.” He turns fully, holding out clothes in both hands. “I thought these,” he shakes the clothes in his left hand, “for Combeferre, and these, “he shakes the clothes in his right hand, “for you.”

 

Enjolras takes the clothes for Combeferre first. The blue flannel pants and sweatshirt look like they’ll probably fit him fine, although the sweatshirt will be a little big. “These are fine.”

 

Grantaire nods, taking them back and tucking them under his arm. “And for you?”

 

A bright red hoodie, and black pyjama pants with the batman logo on them, which are a bit threadbare. “I think these will fit.”

 

“Well, you should probably just change into them now.”

 

He stares at Grantaire for a moment, and Grantaire flushes, pink along his cheeks (and a little along the tiny v of skin visible on his chest, but Enjolras is trying very hard _not_ to think about that while their friends are downstairs.

 

“I mean,” says Grantaire, “I’ll just go outside, out of the room, and you stay in the room and get changed.”

 

Enjolras doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or not. ‘Okay.”

 

Grantaire pulls the door shut behind him. Enjolras gets changed quickly, and despite the thin material of the pants he does feel warmer now that he’s not in his wet, cold clothes. Grantaire is leaning against the wall, with the hood of his onesie pulled up, when Enjolras opens the door.

 

Grantaire grins at him, and Enjolras grins in response. He steps towards Grantaire.

 

“Better?” asks Grantaire.

 

“Yes, thank you.”

 

He pushes Grantaire's hood back. Grantaire gives him a questioning look.

 

“You don’t need it up inside,” says Enjolras, “besides, I like being able to see you face.”

 

“Oh really?” Grantaire is grinning again now, and he rests his hands on Enjolras’ hips, and his hands feel so, so warm.

 

“Yes really,” says Enjolras. He’s very glad Grantaire is still so close to the wall, it makes it much quicker to push him back onto it. Grantaire lets Combeferre’s clothes fall to the floor in favour of running his hand up to rest in Enjolras’ damp hair, tangling a little, pulling just a little, and their faces are so close together now, and –

 

“Hurry up you two!” Courfeyrac’s voice comes from downstairs, “Combeferre’s going to freeze!”

 

Enjolras huffs, annoyed, and Grantaire laughs and little. He bends to pick up the fallen clothes, and then, lightning fast, steals a kiss before Enjolras can fully react.

 

“Come on then, we’d better go before they send a search party,” says Grantaire.

 

Grantaire gives Combeferre the clothes when they get downstairs. “You can get changed in the kitchen if you want. I mean, the only window faces to backyard, so no one will see.”

 

“Whatever will get me into dry clothes fastest,” says Combeferre, and Enjolras does feel a little guilty for keeping him waiting.

 

Grantaire tugs at his hand, leading him into the blanket fort. It looks like they’ve moved all the cushions and bedding in the entire house, various blankets and pillows strewn around. Cosette, Jehan and Eponine are sitting together, looking over the pages of a magazine (“That would look great on you,” says Jehan, pointing to something, as Cosette nods). Courfeyrac sits tucked next to Jehan as usual, but he’s not paying attention to the magazine, tossing a tennis ball in the air and catching it. Marius sits opposite them with his legs stretched out, feet entwined with Cosette’s, cradling his mug close to his chest. Grantaire sits next to Marius, and Marius wordlessly hands him his mug.

 

“Here,” says Grantaire, passing it along to Enjolras as his sits down, “you can share mine.”

 

Enjorlas takes a sip. Jehan is magic with food, and the hot chocolate is rich and hot. “Thanks.”

 

“Are you still cold?” says Marius, nudging Grantaire a little with his elbow.

 

“I’ll be fine in a few minutes,” says Enjolras.

 

“You know, Grantaire is like a furnace,” says Marius.

 

“Is he?” says Enjolras. Sometimes he feels as though Marius is one of the strangest people he’s ever encountered.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” says Marius, and he’s staring intently and Grantaire.

 

Grantaire sighs, and lifts an arm up and around Enjolras’ shoulders, pulling Enjolras close to his side. “Here, warmer?”

 

“I,” there’s something about Grantaire so close, like this, that makes it hard to speak, “yes, thank you.”

 

(Enjolras’ is looking at the fire, warm and bright, so he misses the grin Marius gives Grantaire, and Grantaire’s mouthed _thank you_ in response.)

 

Combeferre sits close to the fire, next to Marius, when he comes in (Enjolras was right, the sweatshirt is a little big on him, but the pants fit fine).

 

“So,” says Courfeyrac, “now we’re all here, what do you guys want to do?”

 

“Do we have to do something?” asks Eponine, not looking up from the magazine.

 

“Well, we don’t _have_ to,” says Courfeyrac, “but it’ll be fun!”

 

“I suppose your enthusiasm means you have an idea of what you want to do,” says Combeferre.

 

Courfeyrac grins. “Truth or dare!”

 

The others groan.

 

“You want us to play this every time,” says Grantaire.

 

Enjolras supposes he means other parties, house parties. Enjolras doesn’t usually go, and if he does, he doesn’t stay long. He’s too busy, and it’s not really his thing.

 

“You guys never want to play truth or dare,” Courfeyrac whines, “it’ll be fun, I promise. ”

 

“Okay,” sighs Jehan after a moment.

 

Courfeyrac beams at him.

 

“Come on guys!”

 

Grantaire rubs the hand that’s not currently resting on Enjolras’ waist through his hair. “No outside dares, it’s too cold.”

 

“I can work with that.”

 

Typically, once Grantaire agrees, the others agree too. Enjolras even finds himself doing it sometimes. He supposes it’s because Grantaire so rarely agrees to participate in anything, that when he _does_ , people feel it must be worth their time.

 

They take turns, and it doesn’t take long for a pattern to emerge. Most of them pick an even mixture of both, unless it’s Courfeyrac’s turn to ask, and they pick truth. The only difference in the pattern is Marius, who only ever takes the ‘truth’ option (he’s apparently quite happy to answer any question however embarrassing or personal), and Grantaire, who only ever takes dares (and is never embarrassed in the slightest by anything anyone suggests), although as luck would have it he hasn’t had to take one from Courfeyrac yet.

 

Courfeyrac whines at both of them. “You two are not in the spirit of the game.”

 

Grantaire takes a drink, jostling Marius slightly where he’s slumped against Grantaire’s shoulder. “Well, it’s a dumb game.”

 

“Come on, can’t you two switch it up for one turn? Come oooonnnn.”

 

Grantaire tilts his head towards Marius. Cosette often joked to him, before he and Grantaire had started dating, that they could communicate psychically. As Enjolras looks at them now, he’s almost inclined to agree with her.

 

“Fine,” says Marius, “Dare.”

 

Courfeyrac dares him to streak down the hallway and up and down the stairs.

 

“This is why no one wants to take dares from you Courfeyrac,” says Marius, ducking around into the kitchen, “your dares always involve stripping.”

 

“Come on then Pontmercy, a dare’s a dare.”

 

Marius is a surprisingly fast stripper, jumping out of his clothes and running the length of the hallway and up the stairs in barely enough time for them to see the blush spread down his chest. Grantaire throws him his clothes when he finishes, and purposely blocks Courfeyrac’s view of Marius as he heads back to the kitchen.

 

“So,” says Grantaire, when Marius finishes pulling his clothes back on, “Truth then, I guess.”

 

Enjolras feels a little like this particular round is wasted on Marius. There are so many things he would ask Grantaire, and Marius undoubtable knows more than any of them already. Nothing hurtful or embarrassing, but Grantaire so rarely talks about himself unless prompted (he will admit to be a little curious about Grantaire’s parents. He knows next to nothing about them, besides the fact that Grantaire doesn’t see or call them for reason unknown).

 

Apparently he’s not the only one, because Eponine and Courfeyrac spring forward at the same time.

 

“I have a question!” say Courfeyrac, “ask him what the hell kind of nickname is ‘Grantaire’, he never gives me a straight answer!”

 

“Ask him something about that painting he did last year,” says Eponine at the same time, “the group one.”

 

Marius nods to both, and then turns to Grantaire. He can feel Grantaire tense up, and he wonders what exactly Grantaire doesn’t want to share.

 

“Grantaire,” says Marius, face completely serious, “where did you get that onesie?”

 

Courfeyrac and Eponine groan, and Cosette laughs.

 

Grantaire grins. “Actually, it’s kind of a funny story. I was in Berlin, right, and I was working at this department store …”

 

Truth or dare winds down after Grantaire’s story, and Courfeyrac seems content to let it. He, Jehan, and Eponine lie tangled together on one side of the fort. Cosette tucks a blanket over them as she and Marius head upstairs to bed. Combeferre is already asleep on the couch, and Enjolras feels as if he’s almost asleep on Grantaire’s shoulder.

 

“Hey,” says Grantaire, gently shaking him a little, “I’m going to bed now.”

 

Enjolras blinks sleepily up at him. “Okay.”

 

“I mean, I’m going to bed now, and did you want to come with me? Shit, I mean,” Grantaire looks away, staring into low flames of the fireplace, “like, to sleep. Because it would be more comfortable in my bed. In _a_ bed.”

 

“That would be okay,” says Enjolras, half asleep.

 

Grantaire smiles, and pulls Enjolras up with him.

 

He falls asleep quickly once they get there, still warm and sleepy from the fire downstairs, soothed by the rhythm of Grantaire’s heartbeat under his hand.

 

 

(He almost hopes the power never comes back on at his apartment.)

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated: fangirl_squee.tumblr.com/ask


End file.
